


Save Me From Myself

by IllusionaryEnnui



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, Demonic Possession, Demons, Drama, Emotional Abuse, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Possession, Post-Game, Redemption, Weakness, fear of failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusionaryEnnui/pseuds/IllusionaryEnnui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Would-Be God lies slain and peace sits like rain on a parched tongue. Yet they are not whole with one among them still lost, either dead or fighting beyond the Veil. In one breath, a moment of weakness and they come for him – they come for the savior. Their possession. Can Dorian win him back? || Dorian x M!Trevelyan Mage (One-Shot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me From Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Inquisitor Yvad/Enchanter Mara AU – here, Yvad gets possessed after defeating Corypheus and trying to save Hawke again. Written for slugette’s illustration found [here](http://slugette.tumblr.com/post/118766379875); inspired by Vertical Horizon’s [hit](https://youtu.be/dTZaCWsRWjU) of the same name.

_ _

Art by [slugette](slugette.deviantart.com)

* * *

 

**SAVE ME FROM MYSELF**

_The weather ebbs, flows_  
Seeking, hoping to reclaim  
All that I’m losing.

**_You’ll never find your Champion._ **

**_Not like this._ **

**_Not as you are._ **

A flash of brilliant green, a slash of light across grey sky. His left palm screamed, fire kissing his nerves. Each twitch of finger, even the scrape of nail, sent the strikes deeper and harder. Still, the Inquisitor pressed them further open.

_It hurts. Maker, it hurts. But… but… I can’t… She’s back there. Dying. I can… I can… Why won’t it open?_

“Yvad, you’ve got to stop!”

_Was that…? Whose voice is that?_

“Dorian…? Mara?”

He couldn’t see any more, couldn’t tell one from another. Every colour blended with sound. It twisted with the rustle of wind whistling through the Frostbacks, with the flicker of leaves and the panicked words spilling from mouths. Yvad’s skin burned, ravaged from blistering heat of rage matched by something darker. Teetering the edge, the young Trevelyan ground his teeth against the agony, against loathing and fear. Eating away the good. Feeding in the blackness.

**_We could help you._ **

**_Yes, we know what you need. Let us in and we’ll open the way._ **

_I want…_   _I want to…_

 _Help me_.

**_As you wish._ **

* * *

 “This body. I like it. And I intend to keep it. You will not take it back.”

Ribs and vertebrae cracked like the snapping of tender twigs. Drops of crimson stained the silken robes but Mara Trevelyan gave them little care. How could she when the Inquisitor had thrown her like nothing more than a sheaf of elfroot where the stone of Skyhold’s walls bit into her spine? She tasted her blood on her tongue as easily as she sensed her brother’s madness.

Kindness turned to manic laughter. The very air thickened where the scent of ozone curled in their nostrils. Magic coursed through them all, summoned by pain. His and theirs. It pulsed through the fists striking out, friend made foe. It thrummed at fingertips, needing to soothe. To save.

But those eyes, naïve violet transmuted into wicked rings of ruby and ochre…

The Senior Enchanter’s own spilled over with white hot tears. On instinct, her power rushed to strengthen her legs, to help her stand where paralyzed muscles failed. Her magic made to allay the trembling, to spread over those gathered. With it, she prayed they might weather the tempest of wild energy whipping around them.

“Brother…” Her voice came as a hollow mutter, barely audible over the rumbling of the conjured storm.

“Lady Mara!” Alabaster leather flapped, folding around quick legs. Dorian’s arm hooked around the Ostwick enchanter to pull her clear of a streak of electricity arcing towards them. The sheer power of his own body kept her from him, from falling. His own mana bolstered hers, but it wouldn’t help them. Not as _he_ was. “Keep back!”

What was he to do? Even in Tevinter had he seen those go beyond their control. He had seen madness and possession. But this… this was Yvad. This was the Inquisitor. His friend. His… _everything_.

_How do I stop him?_

No amount of charm could not dissuade, not one witty word or honeyed smile. All of the magic at his command could do little more; it could not reach through the haze and drag Yvad free. Every second, the demons sank their claws to their depth. Claiming. Stealing away that which they held most precious.

The ground crunched beneath his boot when the mage shifted forward.

“Hold your ground, Dorian!”

_Fasta vass! What else can I do, Cullen? We can’t leave him like this._

Dark, olive-toned fingers clenched tighter until the knuckles grew as light as his lover’s skin. He dared not move further. Rain swelled and fell, the oncoming storm unleashed. Blood mixed into mud. Yet the familiar shirr of steel snapped his attention more the snarl on Yvad’s countenance or the spittle foaming at the young man’s mouth.

“You’d best put away that blade, Commander.”

Droplets beaded on unsheathed silverite.

“Oh, yes.” A sneer, a wistful sheen. Porcelain fingers waggled in the air, forks of lavender lightning playing from tip to tip. “That dull edge will serve you little, templar.”

The Inquisition’s military advisor spat onto the wet earth as he dodge a bolt. Leather gloves hardened on the sword’s grip, its binding creaking as he held it higher. Not chancing another step, he held his ground, his brow furrowed over a hardened gaze.

“I’m sorry, but we have no –“

“Put. It. Away. Ser.” Low but measured, Mara’s warning pierced through them both. More tears carved their pain onto her cheeks and her breath heavy, but a determination marked the evenness of her timbre. She stepped forward, close to the man who had been her brother.

A demon’s stare locked its sight on her, faster than Cullen and Dorian could match. Her magic sparked into life as the darker energies raced at her in turn. Its shimmering coalesced to redirect the black forks of lightning, but only just so. A Knight-Enchanter she was, their shields things of beauty; however, the bruises marring her ashen skin and the growing strength of Yvad as the demons gripped his mind tighter.

“My lady –”

Her right hand gestured Cullen back as more magic spilled forth, but the man’s guard never wavered. She winced when Yvad scream, an inhuman cry as her shield flowed like quicksilver. It undulated, warping and spilling forward until it swallowed the Inquisitor. A prison of pure magic crystallized – a feat not without merit. In an instant, all was silence save for the enchanter’s laboured breaths and the hum of power. The sunlight itself caught in the prism’s glow, every colour under in the Maker’s eyes shattered over earth and flesh.

No one marvelled at its beauty, the sheer will needed to shore its walls and price it bore. All they saw the pain it contained, the rage of mad man lost in a new tide as he screamed and twisting, clawing at the air.

The name of the Inquisitor’s sister hovered on the commander’s lips, green-flecked amber irises thrown wide, but she never answered. Mara never let her hands waver, never let her gaze drift even as she sunk to her knees. Still, the sphere of her shield held. She held it until her skin grew fever and her head ached. One slip and the demons masquerading in her brother’s face would overwhelm them all.

“D-Dorian.” She hissed the name, forced it through her teeth as she bit back against the splintering in her skull. “G-gather all the lyrium-m in Skyhold and fetch Lady Fiona. Hur-hurry. I can… I’ll hold him. H-hold him for as long as I can.”

Dorian did not hear Cullen ordering him to stand down. He did not hear the man fighting for some semblance of control or catch the rivulet of scarlet twinning from a pale, freckled nose. His steps thundered beneath the clearing sky, Yvad’s magic trapped by the shield. Skyhold and its people swam around him, but still he ran. He felt time peeling away, strip by fragile strip. If she had a way to save him, they had no choice.

_I won’t watch him die._

_I can’t._

* * *

_“You need to find him and free him, Dorian. Act quickly. Do not be taken in. Mara can only maintain the barrier for so long. You must hurry.”_

As if he didn’t know that? Cullen said the same, that he had known of this method only once before, back during his time in Kinloch Hold. Mara could barely speak by the time Fiona joined her, fearing that one slip and they would lose more than their own lives. Tension quivered, rippling over skin and thought but they saw that manic gleam.

There had been no other choice. Not for them. Not for _him_.

Dorian, his mind slimmed to a single focus, never heard the incantation, only the ghost of a prayer.

The Fade itself materialized around him, the desolate landscape of the Black City made manifest once more. Twisted, ghastly spires reached up into the miasma, their shadows creeping along the horizon over the wall of a spectral Skyhold. Every breath spiced itself with flame and more ozone. Bitterest ashes coated his tongue, flakes of regret. Of wrath. Of loss.

The courtyard itself was empty, not a soul to be found. He knew he would not find what he sought there. He left it behind without more than a passing scan. His boots echoed on the steps leading into the keep, its seat of power.

Whispers rang even as the dust of ages settled under fine Tevinter soles in the great hall. They creeped and crawled, beckoning. Licking up spines and teasing. Spellbinding liege and peasant alike. They came and danced on their summoned breaths. Sweeter than the perfume of Aggregio Pavali. Silkier than pleasure domes of Orlais. Stronger than any magic a mere mortal could muster.

Half-truths and promises; every desire and fear given voice.

“ _… No templar can ever hold you, little. Never touch you._ ”Slithery sounds, hisses masked to form words as they were smoke. Malice flitted next to hunger, slick friends. “ _They will wallow in their pain wrought by their own hands. They –_ ”

“Back. Away.”

Fire, a righteous flame, curled around Dorian’s fingers to pool in his palm.

Splayed on his throne and wreathed in an unearthly blow, what he saw on Yvad sharp features tore into him as the young man sat. Glazed. Empty. Barely himself. Barely human. A shell. The ebony strands of the Trevelyan’s tresses whipped in an unseen breeze, flickers of the demon’s magic sparking in his violet eyes. Seeping in. Rooting itself. Taking over.

But… something lingered.

“Dor… Dorian?”

That _was_ hope. Enough to bring tears to a broken man.

“Yes.” The fire sputtered. “Yes, Yvad. I’ve come to take you home.”

That empty swirled again, pulling the Trevelyan back. As he couldn’t focus. As if he couldn’t think. Couldn’t think for himself as the demons around him smile beneath their cloaks and magic.

“Home?” He titled his head. The word looked foreign on his tongue, his lips struggling to make its syllable. “What… what is _home_?”

"Home is...” The atlus shoot his gaze to the ground. What _was_ home? What was home to him? What was home to _him?_ Yvad spent his life in a Circle, far from family and friend. From a life of his own. All he had was his sister, but then everything changed. What he knew and what he wanted had changed. It drove him on, his impassioned grip like a vise on his staff. “Home is where you are. Where we are. Skyhold. Tevinter. I don't care. Home is where the people who love you are. People like me."

Words poised on Yvad’s tongue, the haze thinning. And then that hope shattered as a wave of darker magic slipping through. Even Dorian felt the very air grow heavy, stifling. One demon oozed over the others. There, it coiled itself around the Ostwick-born mage like a loving hand to pull him even further into the abyss of their power.

" _Sweet child,_ ” it whispered as a ghostly finger caress their quarry’s soft cheek. Black tendrils rippled and flowed, seeming to sew themselves into Yvad’s being. “ _They used you, Yvad. You are their prize. They used your power and they will take everything. There will be nothing left but bone and ash._ "

Dorian felt his staff splinter in his hands.

“You…. SHUT. UP!”

The smoke congealed, its sinister smirk grown broader.

" _See how cruel and petty they are? Dorian Pavus... he does not love you. He can only love himself._ "

Lightning cracked and split the sky. Dorian threw his hands up, blinded. Beyond his sight, smoke and fog spilled behind the brightness. Faces, blurry yet damning, peered through the haze.

_Maker, no._

Every demon, its nature given a new form, wore _that_ face. The face of one he loves, of the man who reconciled what he wanted and what he had. Eyes once full of confidence and justice bore only madness and multiplied.

" _Can you destroy something you claim to love?” Dare you risk one misstep and taste his blood for your own gain?_ " A chorus of the same voice poisoned by another, they spoke to taunt, to wound. They licked their lips, their matched sneers spread wide, and stared down their prey.

Onto his knees the altus fell among the rubble and the dust, surrounded by masks and a crumbling world.

_One slip... would end it all. But…_

His body shook, but strong fingers balled into fists as the sound of their laughter, their catcalls and curses. The smoky mist hissed as it reached him, embers sparking again into life as the flux of magic changed their courses. A mortal found his voice among that maelstrom, steeled gaze squeezed shut and his jawed locked.

"His sister would never forgive me if I left him here. The Inquisition would never forgive me for losing their hope. But Yvad..." Hands awash in fire of the purest violet rose. It crackled and seethed, its own thunder much like the storm raging within and without. The demons’ screams could not silence what truth spilled in turn: "Yvad would never forgive me for letting him lose himself, with or without Hawke’s return. But more than that, you parasite... I love him. He is MY home."

When his fury died and the fires waned, only one remained. Both their clothes and skin stained crimson, what Dorian held in his arms was more than a prize but the cornerstone of his home.

* * *

Amethyst eyes fluttered, the warmth of something soft pressed to his brow. The tickle of a moustache gave him the answer to a question he had yet to ask. Snuggled into the heat of darker skin, the fragrant spices of Minrathous and leather blanketing him in its comfort, Yvad let the weariness take hold. He felt free, wholly himself.

He was safe. They were all safe.

For years he tipped along the edge, kept in check by fear and the love of a sister and later those who huddled close then, companions and advisors alike. He heard their muffled voices, their prayers and wishes made of relief and compassion. But one voice lay silent.

“M-my sister?”

“Fiona said she needed rest,” muttered a familiar, welcomed voice. Though he said nothing of the poor woman’s fracture ribs, something playful hid itself in the tone. But that was a matter for another day.

The Tevinter wheezed, lifting Yvad from the ground where they sat. Dorian may have been born a mage, but he had his strength, trained to the pinnacle of the breed. Despite the weight of the Fade clinging to his spirit, he clutched Yvad close and rose by restrained degrees. He moved slowly on shaky steps which grew steadier with each stride. “I asked Cullen carry her back to her quarters. He was surprisingly compliant. See?”

Over Dorian’s shoulder, Yvad caught the tangled mess of auburn waves pillowed on the commander’s fur mantle, held as something precious and fragile. Beneath her robes, her breast rose and fell, ragged but true. Sucking down a deep breath, he let loose a fraction of the tension carved into his soul. She was safe. They all were.

But that did not spare him that flagellation earned by a moment of weakness. How could he ever forgive himself? Not only did he fail to rescue Hawke, how could he allow himself to forget how easily he fell into the Void? He gave in to what he had fought against for so long. Had Dorian not dared to challenge the Fade itself, what would lay around him but death had they not risked themselves for his sake?

“No amount of words can answer for what I’ve done. I’m sor–”

“Don’t.”

“But –”

How could they absolve so readily? Every penance mustered they silenced, a greater and kinder set in its place.

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” Dorian’s lips brushed again across his cheek like the kiss of the sweetest bloom. “Now rest.”

“But… where are _we_ going?” Yvad asked in a quiet, sleepy timbre – he knew better than to argue further.

“Home.”

                                                                        

**THE END**


End file.
